


One Night Stand

by koalathebear



Series: What If? [1]
Category: Homeland
Genre: Community: 15_minute_fic, F/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in season 1.  Just an idea I was playing with – what if one of Carrie's casual pick-ups was Quinn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night Stand

**Author's Note:**

> [15 minute fic:](http://15-minute-fic.livejournal.com/)[Word #280](http://15-minute-fic.livejournal.com/74508.html). The premise is simple: you have a prompt word and you have fifteen minutes. It's up to you to complete an entire ficlet from those two items. Don't look at the word until you are ready to write.

The room is crowded and Carrie sits at the bar nursing her drink, studying the crowd without looking obvious about it.

"This seat free?" a voice asks and she glances up. Tall, tousled brown hair, fascinatingly light grey eyes and a cheek bones that many a male model would regard with envy.

"Not anymore," she tells him with a welcoming smile. She sees him look her over but he manages to keep it light and friendly instead of sleazy and invasive, lingeringly just for a second on the swell of her breasts. He seems most interested in her face though, his gaze holding hers steadily although he has missed nothing from the engagement ring on her finger to the melted ice in her glass.

He sits down and buys himself a drink and one for her even though she hasn't finished the one sitting in front of her. He's dressed carelessly in a dark slacks, a grey shirt that is unbuttoned at the throat and a loose jacket. There's something almost European about the ease with which he wears his clothes even though his accent is entirely North American.

He takes a deep swallow of his drink and watches as she drains her glass and reaches for the drink he has just bought for her. He gives a low whistle when she downs it quickly.

"Does that mean you want another one?" he asks her.

"Only if you catch up," she tells him and he takes up the challenge and finishes his glass and orders another drink for both of them.

"Are you trying to get me drunk or are you trying to pick me up?" he asks her, with a smile on his face.

"Both?" she says with a grin.

"First isn't possible, second isn't necessary. I'm interested," he tells her bluntly, reaching out and tucking her blonde hair behind her ear.

"Really?" she demands, her voice slightly slurred but she is amused at his bluntness.

"Really – the bogus engagement ring wasn’t even needed. I'm happy with a casual hook-up," he tells her and she laughs. He holds out his hand. "I'm – "

She holds up her hand and puts a finger on his mouth. "No names then. I just want to fuck you, not know your life story," she tells him bluntly and he laughs.

"What if you need to call out my name in a moment of passion?" he asks and she grins.

"Are you that good?"

"I wouldn't want to boast …"

"No names," she repeats and he shrugs and leans into her.

"Are you going to tell me anything about yourself though?" he asks her curiously.

"Like what?" she demanded, pulling a face. "Like do I do this often? Like what's a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?"

"Whatever you want to tell me is fine," he tells her. "I'm staying in this hotel - we can finish this conversation upstairs if you want to talk in private."

She slants a grin at him and they both finish their drinks.

She's a little unsteady on her feet but he slides an arm around her narrow waist to steady her as they walk through the bar, through the lobby of the hotel towards the lifts.

Once inside the lift, she leans against him, her mouth hot and hungry on his. His lips are cool and assured, his tongue sliding between her lips to tangle with hers as their breathing becomes ragged.

"Happy to fuck you here but the bed is more comfortable," he says in a hoarse whisper and she laughs and leans against him as they walk to his room.

"Hurry up," she tells him as he fumbles slightly with the door key card.

They fall into the room in a tangle of arms, legs and laughter. By the time they hit the bed, they're both naked although the undressing is less than elegant

*

"Fuck me," he mutters, sweat cooling on his bare skin as he stares at the woman collapsed bonelessly on top of him.

"I thought I just did," she tells him with a smile. They both feel as though they've been hit by a freight train and neither is in a hurry to disentangle their limbs.

She lowers her head and kisses him again, slow and lingering.

He rolls them so that she's lying underneath him and he supports his weight on his elbows as he stares down into her flushed face. Her eyes are large and alert, wary and provocative at once.

"You know it's kind of dangerous to go and have sex with strangers," he remarks even as he presses a gentle kiss to her cheekbone.

"I can take care of myself," she tells him coolly. Her coolness and composure vanishes as he slides his long, cool, clever fingers inside her and she bites her lower lip sharply and groans.

By the time they drift off into sleep, they're both pleasantly exhausted.

*

Peter Quinn opens his eyes and stares around the room. For a moment he feels disoriented and then he remembers that he's in a hotel room in DC.

He turns his head and he's alone in the bed, the blonde woman from the night before having taken the opportunity to disappear while he slept. He can still taste her on his tongue and smell the scent of her perfume on the pillow beside him.

He doesn't wonder if they'll ever meet again. He reaches down and retrieves his slacks, putting his hand in the pocket and retrieving the small purse he 'removed' from her handbag when she wasn't looking.

He studies the driver's licence photograph with interest. Carrie Anne Mathison stares back at him seriously.

"Open the door you goddamn sonofabitch!" he can hear a voice shout as she pounds noisily on the door.

He slides out of bed and opens the door. "Good morning, Carrie Anne," he greets her.

"It's Carrie and – " she stops abruptly and stares at him. "Do you always open the door naked?" she demands as he gestures for her to come in.

"Nothing you haven't seen already, Carrie," he remarks mildly. "Nice name … suits you," he tells her.

"Fuck off," she tells him crossly. "You're lucky I don't call the cops," she tells him, snatching up her purse and drivers licence.

"Unlike you, I don't really do one night stands – wanted to make sure I saw you again," he tells her with a smile.

"You think I want to go out with a fucking thief?" she demands.

"I haven't stolen anything, it's all there," he tells her taking her purse and handbag out of her convulsive grip and dropping them onto a nearby chair.

"What are you doing?" she demands warily as he crosses to her and pulls her back into his arms against his naked body.

"Introducing myself. I'm Peter Quinn – it's good to meet you," he tells her politely as his hands reach behind her to unzip her dress.

"Don't delude yourself, Quinn - I'm just using you for sex," she tells him as she steps out of the dress.

"OK," he says mildly.

"And I used your toothbrush," she states baldly, making him laugh as he unhooks her bra.

"Carrie you talk too much," he tells her.

"OK but this doesn't mean we're going steady or anything," she retorts, determined to have the last word.

By the time they collapse back onto the bed, she's too breathless to talk.

**end**

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**Author's Note:**

> It's not something that I'm going to write but I remain intrigued with the idea of - what if Quinn and Carrie had encountered one another in season 1. Would she have still become so obsessed with Brody?


End file.
